Compromise
by Jotunnette
Summary: AU. When Katniss volunteers as tribute for the 74th Hunger Games, both Madge and Peeta are shocked. Together, they work through the struggles of watching her fight to the death and discover something hidden from their past.
1. Chapter 1

_**DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters in this fanfic (except for Samwell). All characters belong to Suzanne Collins.**_

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I linger in front of the bakery, not sure about whether I should go in or not. The reaping had come and gone and, to my relief, I wasn't chosen. Not like I would be, compared to those who were. My name couldn't have been in the drawing more than six times, like Gale had said earlier. Then again, Prim Everdeen's name was only in there once. Lucky for her, she had a sister who was more than willing to protect her. Unlike Samwell, the boy chosen.

Katniss. It was just this morning that she and Gale delivered strawberries for my father. Now, she's on a train to the Capitol, where she'll be put in a slaughterhouse with twenty-three other kids. Of course I had taken it roughly. Katniss was the only girl I ever talked to that didn't care for boys or fashion. But seeing Peeta's face when she volunteered for Prim, I knew I wasn't nearly as upset as him.

I immediately darted in line to say goodbye to Katniss, after her family and Gale. I turned for a brief second and there was Peeta, obviously contemplating whether or not to join the line. One glance at Gale, though, and he ducked his head and left. Moments later, I'm called in.

I forget what I'm doing there for a second, but start fumbling around with the pin on my dress. Katniss stares, bewildered. My aunt's pin. My mother had given it to me on the day of my first reaping, one of the few moments where she was lucid enough. Maysilee competed in the Second Quarter Quell and had died there. The golden mockingjay was one of the few mementos my mother had of Maysilee, but she gave it to me anyways.

I hold the pin out to her. "They let you wear one thing from the district in the arena," I say, voice shaking. "One thing to remind you of home." I step closer to her, my voice becoming steadier. "Will you wear it?" Katniss is taken aback.

"Your pin?" Her eyebrows knit in confusion. I nodded quickly before reaching for her.

"Here, I'll put it on your dress." My voice may be steady, but my quavering hands betrayed my nerves as I attached the mockingjay to the dress. "Promise me you'll wear it in the arena, Katniss? Promise?" I looked her in the eyes, afraid she won't answer out of sheer shock.

Slowly, she nods. "Yes." In a moment of unadulterated emotion, I jumped forward, planting a quick peck on her cheek and hugging her with all I have. Then, the Peacekeepers motioned for me to leave. The last thing I saw before the door shut was Katniss curiously peering at the pin.

I returned home and changed out of my dress, which seemed ridiculous now that I thought about it. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a much more casual shirt before setting out again.

Now here I was, standing awkwardly in front of the bakery Peeta's parents owned. With a clench of my hands, I walk in. Luckily, Mr. Mellark is at the counter, not his less-than-perky wife. "Hello, Madge!" I give him the customary smile and greeting before spotting a batch of cupcakes frosted with beautifully detailed sunflowers on top. I ask him how much two would cost and pull out several notes from my pocket. Mr. Mellark boxes the cupcakes up and hands them to me. I then remember my primary reason for coming to the bakery.

"Mr. Mellark, is Peeta here, by any chance?"

He nods and shoots me a knowing smirk before telling me that Peeta would be out soon and could I wait outside for him. I nod again, and thank him for the cupcakes before leaving.

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_A/N: This could be considered more of a prologue than a first chapter, but I'm posting it as Chapter One to avoid confusion. I have a feeling the first few chapters will be a bit dry, but once the Games start, things will get a lot more interesting._


	2. Chapter 2

I sat on the porch for a good five minutes waiting for Peeta. I tapped out little rhythms on the top of the cupcake box, but none of them sounded right. Then, the door behind me opened and Peeta lumbered over. I scramble to my feet, clutching the box.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself," I answer back. "Do you want to- Um." I stumble over my words embarrassingly before coming up with the right words to ask "Do you want to go somewhere? To talk?" Peeta raises an eyebrow, obviously confused.

"Why?" My stomach drops. I hadn't anticipated that he would question my motives. I find a quick reason in the back of my mind.

"You just look like you needed someone to talk to. Reapings can be rough." I curse myself for the last sentence. "Do you want to go to my house and talk?" Peeta stares at me for a moment before answering.

"Sure." He glances at the box in my hands. "What're those?" I laugh, the first time all day.

"Cupcakes." I lift the lid up to show him. He smiles, just a little bit.

"I frosted those, you know."  
"I do. I thought that today's looked especially beautiful." I step off the patio and he follows suit.

We walk the short distance to my house in silence. The house is just as silent as we were. I figure that my father is out, and my mother in a drugged sleep until tomorrow. I gesture for him to sit with me on the couch.

I put the cupcakes down on the table in front of me. "So," I start. "How do you feel about the reaping?" I take one of the cupcakes and begin peeling the paper cup off. He just plays with his hands. I touch his shoulder gently.

"It was a reaping. That's it." I frown, and he frowns back.

"Peeta." I kick my shoes off and cross my legs. I take a deep breath. "I know about Katniss." His face remains stoic, but his eyes betray him for a millisecond. "It was obvious for me, really." He looks down. "I know you're worried about her."

"How did you know?" He asks. I shrug.

"The way your face lit up whenever she was around. Nobody else could make you like that." His face flushes a light pink, but I continue. "You always try to catch her eye." He puts a hand to his face and I quickly add "I'm the only one that notices!" I pick at the cupcake before taking off a bit and eating it. It tastes as good as it looks.

An awkward silence fills the room now that Peeta's secret is out. Peeta stares forward. I alternate from staring at him and the cupcake. I avoid eating the frosting, not wanting to mar how beautiful it is. But I always go back to staring at Peeta. I remember the first time I ever really noticed the looks he gave to Katniss.

She and I were walking together to a class. We weren't talking, just enjoying each other's company. A nagging voice in my head told me to look over, like someone was watching me. I glanced across my shoulder and there he was, with his gaggle of friends. Looking directly at me. A warm flush takes over my face before I realize that it isn't me he's gazing at, it's Katniss. My stomach dropped and I looked away.

I saw him several times afterwards vying for her attention. For a couple of crazy days, I hate Katniss for stealing him away. Of course, I realized that neither of them would've known how much I liked Peeta.

But right now that doesn't matter. We both care for Katniss, and we want her to win. It isn't spoken, but it's obvious. The salute at the reaping confirmed it. I nudge Peeta's arm. "Hey. You should have a cupcake. They're great." I grin, because he of all people should know. He takes a cupcake gingerly and peels the wrapper off.

"Look," I start. "Your secret's safe with me. Swear. But moping around won't help." He looks at me quizzically. "Yes, you were moping. If anything, we need to stick together and show everybody in the district, in the Capitol, in Panem that we aren't mourning for Katniss." Peeta looks down, and it put the cupcake down and take his free hand. "We're waiting. She will come back. She's str-" The television blinks on, the anthem blares, and Peeta almost drops his cupcake.

The recaps of the other reapings play. In District One the tributes, both remarkably attractive, are waving to the crowd and cameras proudly. The same goes for District Two. The boy from two is a huge, hulking mess. The girl from Two seems to grin at the boy for a split second. I squeeze Peeta's hand, which I suddenly remember I'm holding. He returns the gesture. The girl from Five catches my eye. Her fiery hair is like nothing I've ever seen before, besides Darius. She's quiet, but I don't count her out.

I cry out when I see the tributes from Eleven. The girl, Rue, is about the same size as Prim. I begin to wonder if the reapings are set up. The Capitol would probably love to see Prim and Rue become allies. I shiver at the thought and let it go. The boy is as big as Rue is small. It seems almost comical that such a small girl and such a massive boy are the tributes. Then, Twelve. The announcers belittle our small district, claiming us to be 'charming, if not a bit backwards in custom'. I frown. They fall silent when Katniss volunteers. Samwell, the boy, is called with no decorum and barely and commentary. Then, they tell us to tune in later for the parade. The television shuts off.


	3. Chapter 3

It's quiet for a moment. Then, Peeta speaks. "Well, she made an impression." I nod. I keep thinking of the boy from Two. His arms thick and bulging with muscle. Crushing anything in his path like a twig. I snap back. I'm in my living room. The reapings have just been broadcast. I'm holding Peeta's hand. Not in the way I wish it were. Katniss is gone, off to the Capitol.

I swallow, forgetting about the boy from Two for now. "Yeah. She did." She's definitely caught the eye of the Capitol, with her volunteering for Prim. It's the first time in history that District Twelve has had a volunteer, Effie Trinket said so at the reaping. I suddenly think of Gale, and how he must think of this situation. He was even closer to Katniss than I was. Very close.

I pick up my cupcake and continue picking at it. In an attempt to lighten the mood, I ask Peeta how the costumes for the Parade will be. We both agree that District One's will be ridiculously extravagant, considering their industry. "They'll probably be wearing items their parents made!" Peeta chuckles. It's nice when he smiles. We manage to talk without bringing Katniss or the Games up for a good hour. I've finally finished my cupcake, and so has Peeta. His spirits are lifted by the time my father comes home.

I hear the door creak in the foyer. "Madge?"

"In the living room, Dad!" We're both careful to keep out voices low, for my mother's sake. My father makes his way into the living room. He greets Peeta cordially and informs us that the parade will be on soon, and so will dinner.

"Would you like to stay, Peeta?" My father asks in a tired voice. I can see Peeta weighing the options in his head, but I know he'd rather be here for this. He gives my father a slow nod. My father mumbles something about dinner and leaves. Peeta shifts to face me fully.

"Does your dad not like me?" I let out a short, bursting laugh. Peeta's probably his favorite person in the world when it comes to my friends.

"Of course he likes you. He loves you. He always compares you to my other friends, like 'maybe if he acted more like that Peeta boy, he'd be happier' and stuff like that." Peeta smiles, reserved. I can still see the pain in his eyes, the longing he has for Katniss, but it's greatly reduced. I revel in the thought that I've made him feel better in these short few hours.

Peeta eyes some of the books on the shelves next to the television. He gets up, slowly, and makes his way to them curiously. "Are these..?" He pulls out a thick, ornately bound book and opens the cover. I lean forward with raised eyebrows. He flips a few pages and starts laughing. I rise from the couch and meet him, wanting to know what in the world he's laughing at.

I look over my shoulders and realize he's looking at pictures. We have several photo albums in the house, but I don't recall looking through this ornate one. Peeta points to a picture in the middle of the page, one of two smiling children covered in mud and the coal dust that always drifts through the district. It's us, I realize. Peeta and I. Of course, all the town children would go on playdates with each other, but Peeta's parents and mine got along famously when we were little, and so we were together often.

We flip through the pages and see more and more pictures of us, slowly growing up before our eyes. Some pictures were of me, wearing my mother's formal dresses from before the headaches got worse. Some had my father, holding me with an unsurpassable amount of love and pride in his eyes. Sometimes, we'd be accompanied by one of my girl friends of Peeta's brothers, but we were the focal point of most of the pictures.

There's one picture that gets me, though, that dates from when we were about four. I'd guess it was right before we started school. Before Peeta saw Katniss and his affections changed. Little Peeta squeezing little me tight, his face turning pink from the strain of holding me. Little me grins, while attempting to escape from his grip. I smile and nudge Peeta. He nudges me back.

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_A/N: Still a little boring, I know. But come next chapter, we'll have a little more Everlark vs. Underlark angst!_


	4. Chapter 4

By the time we're called to dinner, Peeta and I have pulled all the albums off the shelves and meticulously gone through them, reminiscing on times when the worst thing to happen to you was a bad case of the cooties. We laugh, remembering how Delly would claim that Peeta was her brother for the longest time and how I would always extend the 'ee' sound in his name as long as possible when calling him.

We scramble to the table, like we're still little. As we clamber into the room, my father looks up, brows raised. "You both have certainly changed since I came home." I settle into my chair and begin eating, suddenly famished.

"We were looking through the photo albums in the other room," Peeta answers for me. He, unlike myself, wasn't stuffing himself with food. "Back when we were kids." My dad smiles. He was the photographer for most of the pictures in the book, and I know he remembers those days vividly.

"You two were really close when you were little. Not that you aren't now, but you two were always together whenever you had the chance." My father pauses to take a bite. "Your mothers both joked that someday you might get married." I almost spray water all over the table, but slap my hand over my mouth. I start coughing, and Peeta quickly starts clapping my back. He's flushed, a bright reddish-pink.

My father shrugs, as if to say _well, it's true._ I regain my composure and continue eating. After my father's remark, the room is silent, awkward. I don't blame my father, he doesn't know Peeta's dirty little secret. I shouldn't call it that, should I?

We finish the meal in silence and just as I take my final drink of water, I hear the anthem play in the next room. The parade. I slam my glass on the table and scramble over to the television. Peeta follows suit, albeit in a more calm fashion.

I close the albums we left on the couch and pile them on the coffee table. We sit down just as the cameras cut to the tributes entering the pavilion on their chariots. District One certainly dazzles, considering that they're painted silver and adorned with rhinestones. Most of the costumes are carbon copies of previous games. I'm worried that Katniss would be wearing a dinky, skimpy coalminer's outfit or, even worse, nothing. It happened one year. All that covered the poor tributes was what was supposed to be coal dust.

All my fears are dissolved when I see a bright light coming out to the circle. Peeta and I are both captivated by the flames engulfing her. The light plays up her features, making her as beautiful as the flames themselves. Peeta slips his hand into mine. I look over at him, and he's engrossed at her visage. The other tributes can't stop looking at her either, while Samwell looks like he's being swallowed whole.

President Snow begins his orthodox spiel about the symbolism of the Hunger Games. How the sacrifice of our children proves our loyalty to Panem. I inwardly scoff. Snow has no idea what it's like to lose something. The Capitol has never had to give up their children as blood offerings for the sake of the country. If they did, Snow would've had a rebellion on his hands decades ago.

After the closing remarks by the commentators, I shut off the television and slump back, ruminating. Peeta's let go of my hand by now.

"How do you think she did?" Peeta asks.

I think. I go through the tributes, and their costumes. They were nothing compared to Katniss and Samwell. Even the other tributes couldn't tear themselves away, nor could the cameramen. She wasn't beautiful, or even pretty. She was as radiant as the sun.

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_A/N: I'm so sorry, I would've updated sooner, but I couldn't log on for the last couple of weeks. The Games will be starting in the next chapter or so!_


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